


Flowershop Confessions

by lasergirl



Category: Once Upon a Time in Mexico, Spy Kids
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:51:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasergirl/pseuds/lasergirl





	Flowershop Confessions

_**Flowershop Confessions**_  
**Title:** Flowershop Confessions  
**Rating:** Totally Harmless Insanity  
**Notes:** Challenge issued by [](http://yunafire.livejournal.com/profile)[**yunafire**](http://yunafire.livejournal.com/) [here](http://www.livejournal.com/users/yuna_firerose/9549.html); Rodriguez-verse crossover, Sands meets Floop. In a flower store.

Flowershop Confessions  
By Coelogyne

***

Floop was used to all sorts of customers in this business, but he wasn't quite prepared for this one. The man sidled into the store quite unobtrusively and toured the refrigerated showcases and fresh-cut bouquets with a slightly sinister air. He wore sunglasses, a plain black suit, black shirt and tie and, although it was quite warm, black leather gloves. He also carried a black, metal-tipped walking stick that he slung over one arm by a leather strap. Against the store's backdrop of exotic flowers and lush plants, the stranger stuck out like a sore thumb.

The black-on-black effect was not quite unpleasant, Floop thought, but he had always tended towards the more dramatic effect when dressing. Aubergine satin, for example, or tangerine silk swirled with fuschia.

Casually, Floop smoothed the lapels of his frock coat (bottle-green velvet with ornate gold buttons, covered with a monogrammed "FF" crimson shop-apron to keep the dirt off) and cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry sir, is there something I can help you with?"

The stranger paused, one black-gloved hand poised with a blossom under his nose. He swivelled and picked his way through the plants until he was opposite the counter.

"You, Fegan Floop," the man said, his face solemn, blank sunglasses reflecting only Floop's inquisitive glances. "You were the Number One show for kids aged 5-12, morning tv slot, five years running. Until that espionage scandal hit the presses and the network had you shut down."

"You watched my show?" Floop was incredulous. One corner of the stranger's mouth quirked into a smile and he titled his head to the side a fraction of a inch.

"I used to," he said darkly.

"Well, the last season was affected by the bad PR. I wasn't pleased with it myself." Floop shrugged and flicked at the crumbs of potting soil that speckled his countertop. The man leaned against the countertop conversationally, one gloved hand toying idly with the rose he held.

"Does this make you happy?" The man asked, "Flower arranging? Potted plants? Do these fulfill some dark, deep urge in your heart and soul? Making up boutonnières and rememberance wreaths? Bouquets for blushing brides? Corsages trampled on a motel-room floor by the Prom Queen's would-be rapist?"

"I beg your pardon?" Floop scowled and his fingers twitched urgently. It was times like this he missed his favourite invention, the non-curing, non-staining, child-proof modelling clay he used to give vision to his ideas. "Is there a reason you came to insult me, or were you interested in purchasing an arrangement?

"Just browsing," the man deadpanned, laying the rose on the countertop between them. "This rose, I've never smelled anything quite so fragrant before. What is it?"

"_Floribunda Robertus_," Floop said, barely able to disguise his excitement, "It's a particular strain I was developing. There is no rose currently in existence with such a fragrance or pattern. It's terribly difficult to breed a rose with a red centre, and practically impossible to breed a black rose at all. I am expecting to hear from the Rose Society any day now."

"Really, now?" The man raised the flower to his nose again and breathed deeply. "Why is the fragrance so unique?"

"It isn't the petals alone that carry the scent, every cell of the plant is able to produce it. The stem, the leaves, even the thorns!" Floop waved his arms in excitement, "It will revolutionize the perfume industry, just think! I can breed roses that smell of other things as well, vanilla or chocolate, freshly-cut grass, anything you can think of! I'm working on a strain right now that actually tastes the same as it smells. Imagine, an edible flower that tastes and smells exactly like a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich!"

The stranger quirked an eyebrow at that statement, and he shook his head and gently laid the rose down on the countertop.

"I'm sorry, I thought I was talking to Fegan Floop, the brilliant inventor who was able to build fully-functional robots in the shape of children. Instead I'm talking to Floop, the man who would be Willy Wonka and his goddamn Chocolate Factory."

That was enough! Floop snatched the precious rose back from the counter and put it in a thin flute of water standing behind the cash register. He smacked the countertop hard with his fist, and the man started back, surprised. There was a trace of a devious grin on his face.

"Who are you," Floop growled, "to think you can saunter in here and insult me and my work! True, rose-breeding may not win the espionage cold-war, but it could put an end to world hunger!"

"Oh, fuck world hunger," said the man, one black-gloved hand slipping into the inside pocket of his suitjacket. Floop cringed as the hand was withdrawn, but it did not hold a gun. The stranger flipped open a black wallet to display a shiny silver crest.

"CIA," he said lazily, "Agent Sands, and don't worry, I'm not going to kill you so you can stop pretending to act tough. It doesn't really suit a man who runs a flower shop, okay?" Floop's mouth hung open, utterly speechless, as Sands stowed his ID badge back in his pocket. "Are you done? Good, let's get down to brass tacks here. Tell me about your Spy Kids."

"They - they aren't for sale," Floop stammered, "They were impounded by the IRS after the show flopped as collateral payment. All I have left are some spare parts, you know, extra arms and legs, eyes, ears, that sort of thing. Fully functional, of course, why wouldn't they be, but without a brain to hook them up to, they're useless!"

"Listen, Floop," Sands grabbed one velvet lapel and pulled Floop towards him to whisper in his ear. "I can get you all the funding you need for your flower project, from now till the end of the world, but I need you to cooperate. None of this screwing around, okay? Do you think you can handle that?"

"F-funding?" A hopeful glow sparked deep in Floop's heart. "What do you need me to do?"

Sands released his crushing grip on the velvet and grinned fiercely. He dug into his jacket pocket and extracted a tiny cellphone, which he pressed into Floop's palm.

"Take this," he said laconically, "Tell no-one."

As Sands made his way towards the door, Floop retrieved the fragrant red-and-black rose from its vase. He hurried to the door, catching Sands with his gloved hand on the push-bar.

"Perhaps you'd like to take this with you," Floop offered, snipping the stem with a tiny pair of silver scissors. He fitted the bloom delicately into Sands' buttonhole, arranging it precisely with nimble fingers. Sands smiled secretly and bent his head to savour the aroma. "If there's anything I can do for you, let me know."

"I'll be in touch," he said, pushing the door open. A taxi was idling at the curb, waiting for him. Sands repositioned his walking stick and knocked it gently against the door frame. He smiled grimly and took a deep, resigned breath. "I'm particularly interested in the eyes."  


Questions? Comments? Uhm.... yes.


End file.
